


And The Stars Were Shining

by GnomeIgnominious



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: AU, Everybody is an opera singer AU, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GnomeIgnominious/pseuds/GnomeIgnominious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas is a baritone singing for MON, a small but reputable opera company run by Carolyn, a retired soprano. Arthur sings in the chorus and sometimes plays bit parts, or even a lead if Carolyn can't find anyone else. Their first opera of the season is Tosca and Carolyn decides to hire a new, permanent tenor, who will debut in the role of Cavaradossi. Enter Martin Crieff, stage left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This AU of mine has been brewing for some time and I finally decided to do something with it when I read that Roger Allam considered becoming an opera singer before choosing acting. I had intended to write the whole thing before posting but I decided to post what I've written so far to see if anyone actually enjoys it. Hope the characters are not too OOC. Apologies for the obscene amount of exposition.

Douglas woke slowly, peeling his eyes open and turning his head to peer at the clock on his bedside table. The glowing numerals shone through the half dark of his bedroom: 7:30. Rehearsals normally started at ten but Carolyn wanted him in early today. It was their new tenor's first day and Douglas knew she wanted the introductions and niceties to be over with quickly so they could get into the initial sing-through of the first major work MON was performing this season: Tosca. 

Douglas was playing Scarpia and had spent the past week learning his part, the Italian lyrics flowing easily off his tongue. He felt uncharacteristically nervous as he pulled himself out of bed and into the shower; he'd never sung the part before and he badly didn't want to make mistakes in front of their new member. 

Douglas spent a good fifteen minutes in the shower, enjoying the hot water and warming up his mouth and throat with lip trills and some agonisingly slow scales, squeezing every last drop of breath out of his lungs. In Douglas' opinion, bathroom acoustics were something that not even the Royal Opera House could rival. He shut off the shower, dried himself and got dressed, taking care to shave properly and choosing his favourite shirt. 

Breakfast was next in the order of the day, scrambled eggs on toast with orange juice, not chilled so that it didn't cool his vocal cords too much. Then to the piano for another half an hour warm up, this time singing a few lines here and there from his favourite arias, before finishing with some good old fashioned Gilbert and Sullivan to take his mind off the stress of the upcoming morning.

Douglas' reputation in the opera world had taken a nose dive five years ago when he'd been shown the door at the English National Opera after turning up to a performance drunk. Luckily his understudy had been able to take over after a couple of scenes and the incident went unnoticed in the general press- however Douglas knew that it was unlikely that any other person, be they performer, director, back stage crew or front of house had missed the gossip that had flown through opera circles in the six months following his dismissal. 

He'd managed to ignore most of it as he had been busy wading through the wreckage of his disintegrating marriage, but eventually he had gone back to counselling, sobered up and even begun to work on compiling an album and auditioning for small opera companies. Finally, he was successful at MON and took up his place as their lead baritone, a position that he'd held ever since, and a position which he actually enjoyed far more than the glamorous globe-trotting lifestyle that he'd had with ENO. 

MON was a family business and didn't take itself too seriously. Douglas hoped that the new tenor would fit in. He also hoped that he had never heard of Douglas Richardson, even though he knew that was sadly rather unlikely. He collected his phone, wallet and keys and left the warmth of his flat for the short commute across central London to the small but well-respected theatre that MON used as its base, trying to ignore the rather amateurish butterflies in his stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

Martin awoke with a start from a particularly unpleasant dream in which he'd turned up to his first rehearsal at MON and somehow completely forgotten what opera they were performing and which part he was meant to be singing. It had ended with the rather terrifying owner Carolyn Knapp-Shappey shouting at him while suspiciously green flamingos danced a can-can on the stage behind her. Martin swallowed hard and put the dream out of his mind. He was Martin Crieff, lead tenor at MON, about to embark on the most prestigious role in his career so far: Cavaradossi in Tosca. 

He got out of bed and went through the motions of showering and getting dressed. His throat was horribly dry with nerves and he tentatively started his warm up routine, trying not to get too loud. He lived in a shared house with three students who tended to get annoyed with him belting arias at all hours of the day and night. Martin hoped there would be somewhere he could warm up a little better when he got to the theatre. He checked the time and decided to get going. It would take him half an hour to walk to the theatre and he wanted to be as early as possible. He wrapped his warmest scarf around his neck to stave off the wintry air and set off, thinking over all that he knew about MON in an attempt to block out the nerves that plagued him whenever he started a new part. 

In preparation for his audition Martin had practically devoured the internet looking for information about MON. He'd found out that it had its roots in a small opera and theatre company called The Great East Riding Theatre Incentive, started in Yorkshire in the 1980s by Carolyn Knapp-Shappey and her then-husband Gordon Shappey, she just retiring from the operatic stage, he trying to make his way as a theatre director. Their relationship had apparently ended rather acrimoniously and Carolyn had taken over the company, moving it down to London and renaming it MON, with her son Arthur as principal tenor. Martin had been shocked and deeply impressed when he read the list of singers currently with the company- top of the bill was Douglas Richardson, once star of the baritone scene with ENO. 

Martin was of course aware of what had subsequently happened and was torn. He had been so excited to audition for MON- it sounded like an amazing company to work for: small, friendly and yet adventurous, without the high profile pressure of performing with one of the big companies. But the chance of working with Douglas Richardson- even his name sounded impressive, Martin thought- he didn't know if he could take it. What if he auditioned but failed? Could he live with the disappointment? Even worse- what if he auditioned and was successful? Martin half thought he would faint if he met Douglas, let alone sang with him. 

Of course, in the end, his common sense had won out and he had auditioned, his eyes practically falling out of his head when he read the acceptance email. It had been a tense two weeks of phone calls, emails and lunch meetings with the musical director, the head of casting and the PR staff and finally Carolyn Knapp-Shappey herself before it was confirmed that he would taking the position of principal tenor at MON and his first role would be Cavaradossi in Tosca. Martin grinned inwardly, even though his body was a bundle of nerves. He loved to sing and he knew once he got into the rehearsal room he would be fine. He checked his watch as he crossed the road outside the theatre and went round to the stage door. He had forty five minutes spare. 

He took a deep, calming breath and made his way inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MON of course stands for My Opera Now. The Great East Riding Theatre Incentive is my little nod to GERTI. 
> 
> I'm not sure that Benedict Cumberbatch would be a tenor in real life, but fortunately this is fiction!


	3. Chapter 3

Public transport had been kind to Douglas that morning and he actually made it to the theatre earlier than usual. He went to his dressing room to hang up his jacket and say hello to Carl, his hair and make up man, before heading off towards the individual practice rooms, intent on checking a couple of his lines before rehearsal. His route took him back past the stage door, which opened as he approached, admitting a shortish ginger man along with a rush of chilly winter air. Douglas assumed the man was another new stage hand and gave him a pleasant smile as he walked past. As he reached the end of the corridor, however, he could feel eyes on his back and he heard what almost sounded like a squeak from the man behind him. Douglas turned round.

"Um," the man said. His face was scarlet. "Excuse me, but you're... well, you're Douglas Richardson, aren't you?"

Douglas smiled, but his insides were cringing. "Yes," he said, extending his hand politely as he stepped forward. He never enjoyed meeting fans.

The small ginger man had a surprisingly strong grip, but his pale blue eyes were still as wide as saucers as he gazed up at Douglas.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. It really is. I've admired your work for a long time, actually. Your Falstaff in 1996 is one of my favourites." There was no tone of mockery- it seemed he was completely genuine. Douglas was mollified.

"Well, thank you very much."

"I'm Martin, by the way." The man spoke as though Douglas should know him, but Douglas was nonplussed. "The new tenor? Here at MON?"

Douglas felt a little embarrassed. For some perverse reason of her own, Carolyn had kept him in the dark about their new appointment, wanting it to be 'a surprise'. Douglas thought she probably just enjoyed knowing something he didn't.

"Martin, of course, I do apologise, I'm afraid I haven't been told anything about you." 

Douglas was privately extremely grateful to the man for not yet alluding to what Douglas considered the worst period of his whole career, and probably his life. When Douglas met people who knew about it, they usually brought it up "accidentally" within the first three minutes, or never mentioned it at all. Douglas hoped Martin was one of the latter.

He looked Martin up and down, wondering what kind of voice would come out of that rather scrawny body. Must be impressive, he thought, if Carolyn's replaced Arthur with him. Douglas had always loved Arthur's beautiful clear tenor, but Carolyn had decided she wanted someone with what she called 'star quality'. Douglas hoped she'd found it in Martin. He made a quick decision.

"I was just heading down to the practice rooms before rehearsal, shall I show you the way? Then we can go in to rehearsal together."

Martin seemed to grow about two inches in height and a smile split his face.

"Thanks very much. I'd been hoping to get a bit of a warm up in, actually. My... um... my teacher recommended that I do at least half an hour of breath control exercises twice a day, even if I'm not going to sing."

Douglas sighed inwardly. He had never stuck to a dedicated practice programme and preferred to simply warm up and sing when the mood struck him. He was fairly contemptuous of singers who had a strict practice, fitness and diet regimen. He hoped Martin wouldn't be too overbearing with all the recommended rules and regulations. Douglas knew he didn't follow a single one of them and he was damned if he was giving up his three course meals and coffees in exchange for tofu and water.

"Well, here we are," he announced as they approached two doors covered with thick soundproofing. "Enjoy." He opened one door for Martin.

"Thank you. I will," said Martin sincerely and flashed Douglas another nervous smile before closing the door.

Douglas went into the other practice room and sat down at the piano, picking out the opening bars of his aria. He began to sing, softly, just to himself. He knew his voice was ready for rehearsals. He wanted to hear Martin on his own. He slipped back out into the corridor and stood, listening intently outside Martin's practice room. The soundproofing was old and Douglas could faintly hear him singing the opening bars to "E lucevan le stelle", the powerful tenor aria from the final act of Tosca. Douglas turned the door handle as quietly as possible and slipped into the room. Martin had his back to the door and was oblivious to Douglas' presence as he continued through the challenging piece.

Douglas had heard of music making the hair on the back of your neck stand up but it had never happened to him. At least, not until Martin reached the climax of the aria, his vibrato exceptional, his tone and breath control perfect. Douglas was stunned. His only criticism would be to say that the emotion in Martin's voice sounded a little artificial; but with that superb, almost textbook demonstration of enunciation, tone and projection, this man could get a job at any of the major operatic companies in the country. And yet, he was here. 

Douglas let the last note hang in the air before breaking the silence. He slowly began to clap his hands. Martin jumped about a foot in the air and spun round, his face flushed scarlet again.

"Martin," Douglas was lost for words. "That was fantastic. Have you sung Cavaradossi before?"

Martin shook his head. "Only at home." He glanced up at Douglas. "Did you like it?"

Douglas could barely stop himself from laughing. "Like it? Martin, that was was amazing. You're practically note perfect and we haven't even started rehearsals. " 

Martin shrugged dismissively.

"I'm being serious! You could audition for ENO with that, or the Royal."

"They wouldn't have me." Martin's voice was matter-of-fact. "I've no experience. This is my second professional job as a singer." 

His voice dropped. "For the last six months I've been a man with a van."

Douglas frowned. "Well, at least you're here now. MON is a great company and excellent experience. Give it a couple of seasons and then try again." He paused and smiled. "And I can tell you one thing- you're not just a man with a van. You're a man with a _voice_."

Martin snorted. "I know we're opera singers but don't you think that was a little _too _melodramatic?"__

__Douglas rolled his eyes. "Come on, then, let's get to rehearsal before I swoon at another of your arias."_ _

__He glanced down at the shorter man as they walked side by side up the corridor and breathed a silent sigh of relief. Martin wasn't so bad after all._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is actually an opera called Falstaff, by Verdi.


	4. Chapter 4

The rehearsal room was already filling up as Douglas and Martin arrived. Carolyn was waiting at the door, a tense smile on her face. 

"Ah, Douglas, I see you've met Martin."

"Yes, we bumped into each other on the way in." 

Carolyn sniffed, evidently displeased that Martin's identity was no longer a secret to Douglas. She turned to Martin. "Let me introduce you to everyone."

The rehearsal room was a small, brightly lit hall with a grand piano in the centre, surrounded by a horseshoe of music stands and tall stools. Chairs for the orchestra were set up at the far end. Carolyn took Martin's arm and steered him through the small groups of people, introducing him as they went. Martin recognised a few familiar faces, such as the director of music, Dirk, and the lead soprano Anna Donati, who would be singing the title role of Tosca. 

Carolyn deposited him at his seat with an unreadable expression. Martin didn't feel particularly encouraged. He had Douglas on his left, next to Douglas was Anna and on the other side of Anna was Carolyn's son Arthur who would be singing the role of Spoletta. As Martin glanced over at him, Arthur looked up, caught his eye and gave him a friendly grin and a wave. Martin tentatively waved back, feeling a little cheered. _You're meant to be here,_ he reminded himself.

"Morning everyone." Dirk's lilting Welsh vowels cut across the chatter. A few people responded, including Arthur- very enthusiastically. "Let's get started. Nothing too strenuous today, first I'd like us to go over the libretto and clear up any pronunciation issues and then we'll have a sing through Act 1. We'll break for lunch and afterwards have a little bit of individual practice. Reconvene at two for some more of Act 1 and that's it for today, unless you're booked for a costume appointment, in which case you should already be aware of that. Any questions?"

There was a general shaking of heads.

"Great!" Dirk seemed to remember something. "Oh yes, I think you've all been introduced but if not we've got a new member starting today, Martin, singing Cavaradossi."

Martin gave an awkward smile, feeling the blush on his cheeks. He pointedly did not look at Douglas, who, he was sure, would be smirking.

"Ok, let's crack on then." And the rehearsal began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lame chapter ending but I ran out of steam writing this one. I have an idea where this thing is going but it's going to take some wrangling. Thanks for reading so far.


	5. Chapter 5

Douglas spent most of the morning rehearsal listening to his colleagues sing and generally forgetting that he was meant to be doing the same. He had been in love with opera his whole life and the point where ten people gathered round a piano and let their emotions fly always left him breathless. He loved being on stage and performing too, but the intimacy and camaraderie of the rehearsal room felt all together more real and immediate. 

And then there was Martin. Douglas had warmed to the man straight away, the operatic part of his brain loudly declaring its appreciation for the tenor's technical skill and control. Another part of him had been amused at how the man's ears turned pink and deep red spread across his cheeks whenever someone complimented him, corrected him or even just said his name. Douglas resolved to make him blush as often as possible, but Anna had stalled his first teasing remark. Perhaps Douglas would try making him blush in _other_ ways...

Hold on- where had _that_ come from? Douglas' sex drive had lain dormant for longer than he liked to admit ( _three years since the divorce now, isn't it?_ a little voice reminded him) and he had begun to grow comfortable with his bachelor existence. It gave some stability to his younger daughter, whose mother had been bouncing around between all manner of different men, even since before the divorce. Or at least, that was what he told himself, even though he barely saw Hannah these days- _and anyway_ , the little voice added, _what teenage girl is even remotely interested in her estranged father's love life?_ Douglas decided he needed some advice.

The rehearsal eventually came to an end and Douglas leaned over to Anna. "I like seeing him blush," he murmured. She laughed and poked him in the side. 

"Don't tell me the great Douglas Richardson's got a crush?" She picked up her jacket and handbag. "Let's go out for lunch."

Douglas offered her his arm like the ridiculous man he was and she took it, giving him an amused look. They fell comfortably in step as they left the theatre, heading for a nearby cafe that did passable coffee and excellent paninis.

"He reminds me a bit of Tony," Anna said, after their food arrived.

Douglas looked sceptical. 

"Don't give me that look. His voice is practically identical."

Douglas shrugged. "I suppose." He took a bite of his sandwich and winced as the melted cheese burnt his tongue.

Anna rolled her eyes. "You always get like this about men."

"Like what?"

"All pouty and..." Anna gestured with her tea spoon. "Secretive. Whenever you have a thing for a woman, you're practically bursting to let her and everyone in a ten mile radius know about it. When it's a man, you sort of hide it until it's too late."

"I do, do I? Didn't realise you were suddenly the world's greatest expert on relationships."

"I'm not saying that, I just know what you're like. We've known each other twenty years, Doug-" he pulled a face at the nickname "I know _you_. And if you like him, let him know! What's the worst that can happen?"

Douglas sighed and Anna let him think about it for a moment while she tucked into her food. Eventually he spoke.

"It's just because, with women, I can tell when they're interested. With men, half the time they're straight and I make a move and they get aggressive and it's awful and I feel awful..." He tailed off. "Why make the effort, you know?"

"You made the effort with Tony," Anna said quietly.

"Tony was different," Douglas replied, and his voice was equally low. 

"Douglas," Anna began, and the words came out before she could stop them. "Having another relationship with a man doesn't mean you don't care about him any more. But... he died fifteen years ago-"

"Sixteen," Douglas supplied.

"I thought... I mean, you married Kate, you had Hannah, I thought you'd moved on."

"I have moved on!" Douglas finally made eye contact with Anna before glancing away. "It's just different, that's all." He didn't know how to explain it to Anna. He didn't really understand it himself. It was childish, but he felt like it would be a betrayal of Tony's memory if he entered into another serious relationship with a man.

Anna clicked her tongue. "Well, for one thing, I'm pretty certain Martin isn't straight."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because he had his eyes on you for pretty much the whole of rehearsal."

Douglas still looked unsure. 

"Trust me, Doug. Just ask him round for dinner. If he's interested, you'll surely be able to tell, and if not? He'll just think it's a colleague being friendly and you needn't take it any further."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 23/02/15- this used to be chapter 6 but I rearranged it as I felt it flows a little better in this order.


	6. Chapter 6

Martin was relieved when they finally broke for lunch. The rehearsal had only lasted for two hours but he was already bone tired. The read through of the libretto had gone well and they'd begun to sing Act 1. Martin had been the first to make a mistake and Douglas had made a quiet, teasing comment before being shushed by Anna- and it wasn't much longer before Douglas himself fumbled his words and and missed a couple of high notes. Martin was starting to see that the image he had had of Douglas as some kind of operatic god wasn't quite right. Perhaps that's what he'd been at ENO, but now? Martin realised he was just trying to make the best of the twilight years of his career. 

Martin glanced over at the baritone, who seemed just as fresh as when they'd started, all errors apparently already forgotten. He was leaning over to whisper something in Anna's ear, his hand just brushing the small of her back. She leaned into his touch slightly and giggled at whatever he had said, playfully poking him in the side. 

Martin felt an irrational pang of jealousy as they gathered their things and left together. He saw Anna slip her arm through Douglas's as the door closed behind them. Martin felt upset, and immediately chastised himself for feeling so. Why should he have expected Douglas to talk to him again, just because he'd liked Martin's aria? Martin had hoped he'd make friends quickly at MON and he'd already begun to get over being starstruck by Douglas. He couldn't tell how Douglas felt towards him- he'd been friendly enough when they met but teasing aside, he'd barely glanced at Martin during rehearsals. Martin sighed, pulled on his coat and looked around, unsure if he should follow someone to lunch.

"Martin!" Arthur was waving at him from over by the door. "Come with me, we can go to lunch together!"

Martin felt a surge of gratitude towards Arthur. The other tenor could have easily been bitter about losing what should have rightfully been his leading role in Tosca to Martin, the newcomer.

"I normally go to the theatre canteen," Arthur told him brightly. "They do artichoke soup on a Monday, it's brilliant. Just through here."

Arthur led the way out of the stage door and across a narrow mews to another red brick building. 

"This was where I had to come for my interview," Martin commented as they stepped inside.

"Yeah, Mum's office is upstairs, and Dirk's and all the costume people too," Arthur supplied. "The canteen's along here."

Martin didn't need Arthur's directions; he could smell what he thought was freshly baked bread and his stomach gave a small growl. 

The canteen was a long, warm room with bare brick walls and a low ceiling, furnished with plain trestle tables and benches. There was a hatch to the kitchen in the far wall and a vending machine and water fountain opposite the door.

Arthur eagerly took a tray and asked for soup at the hatch. Martin did the same and was surprised at the generous amount he received. The cook winked at him conspiratorially as she slid an extra slice of bread on to his tray. Martin felt his ears go pink and thanked her, trying not to stammer. Apart from Carolyn, who was rather aloof and Douglas, who seemed a bit contrary, MON was a friendly place, Martin decided. He joined Arthur at a table, where the other tenor was already enthusiastically spooning soup into his mouth.

"I love artichoke soup," Arthur declared after a moment, through a mouthful of bread. "It always reminds me of art. And choking. Which isn't so good I suppose, but I love art, which sort of cancels out not being able to breathe, don't you think?"

Martin wasn't sure whether to agree. "I suppose so?"

Arthur didn't seem to be listening. "Of course, choking itself could be art. I once ate some strawberries by mistake and Douglas said that he'd never seen a person's face turn that shade of purple before. So I invented a new colour! How brilliant is that?" 

"It's... um, that's great."

Martin finished his soup while Arthur chattered away about MON, telling him stories of going on tour to Austria and nearly leaving the orchestra behind and busking with Douglas in Manchester because Arthur had lost the car keys and they didn't have enough cash for a taxi. By the time they had taken their trays back to the hatch and made their way back to the rehearsal room Martin felt warm inside. 

Douglas was sitting in the rehearsal room leafing through his score. He looked up as Martin and Arthur came back in and called across to them.

"Martin, care to merge our individual practice time? I prefer working as a pair."

"Um, yeah. Of course."

"Smashing, come on then."

Douglas showed Martin back to the same practice rooms they'd used before. He shut the door behind them and sat down at the piano.

"What do you want to do first?"

"Can we just take it from the top?"

Douglas wordlessly turned to the piano and began to play, softly, so that Martin could choose his own dynamics. Every so often he paused and gave some advice or simply a compliment and they would carry on. After fifteen minutes or so, they swapped over, with Martin playing for Douglas, whose powerful, joyous baritone made Martin's whole body reverberate. It was easy to see why he received five star notices for almost every part he sang. 

He was concentrating hard on the music and so didn't notice as Douglas stepped up behind him. Martin jumped and abruptly stopped playing as he felt Douglas' warm hand briefly touch his shoulder.

"Time to get back to rehearsals."

Martin glanced up at Douglas. The older man's hair was flopping over his eyes as he looked down and Martin was at eye level with his baritone belly. His lips quirked briefly as he resisted the temptation to poke Douglas' tummy. 

"Listen, are you doing anything tonight?" Douglas' tone was casual.

"Um, no, no, I'm free."

"Do you want to come round to mine for dinner? Only I've got this new recipe for chicken that I've been meaning to try and I don't want to eat it all myself." Douglas' eyes ruefully followed Martin's gaze to his podgy middle.

Martin didn't want to read anything into Douglas' words, but it sounded like a date. Or was it? Was Douglas even interested in men? Perhaps it was just a man trying to get to know his new colleague? Perhaps he'd realised how standoffish he'd been during rehearsal and was trying to be friendly? Or...?

Martin mentally shushed himself. "That would be lovely. Thanks. Um, when and where?"

Douglas told him his address. "Say seven o'clock?"

Martin nodded, trying not to seem too eager.

"Oh and Martin." A frown crept over Douglas' face. "You've got something there. Looks like soup." 

He pointed at Martin's shirt, just below the collar. Martin reddened and looked down, before rolling his eyes as Douglas flicked his chin and smirked, whistling jauntily as he turned and left the room. He wondered what Douglas had done at lunchtime that had changed his attitude towards Martin so abruptly.

"Come on, we don't want to be late!" Douglas called over his shoulder.

Martin groaned in affectionate exasperation and jogged along the corridor to catch up with Douglas' long strides. 


	7. Chapter 7

Martin had set off in plenty of time to reach Douglas's flat by seven o'clock, and found himself pacing the street outside the building to while away his spare five minutes. He'd picked up a bottle of wine on the way, a nice-ish red- at least Martin hoped it would be nice. He knew that bottles with a proper cork rather than a screw-top were supposed to be nicer, although he had heard that that wasn't necessarily the case these days, and really if you were spending about a tenner for a bottle that was enough, and besides this wasn't even a date, even if he had ironed his favourite shirt and attempted something fancy with his hair, and-

Martin cut his racing thoughts off with a huff and turned on his heel at the end of the street. He must look rather odd to anyone casually glancing out of their window and he shot a defensive look upwards to the flats across the street. All dark- probably belonged to students or city boys, all still hard at work or play. He was opposite the door to Douglas's building again and quickly checked his watch. 7:01. He could finally let himself go up the steps and press the buzzer.

_Bzzt._

"Hi, Douglas? It's Martin." Good lord, he sounded nervous even to himself. He was about to go inside Douglas Richardson's flat! He took a deep breath as the easy baritone crackled through the speaker.

"Hello, Martin, come on up, third floor."

The door clunked open and Martin made his way inside. The building was in a relatively trendy (read: expensive) part of town and although the exterior had a certain shabby redbrick vibe going on, the inside was quietly and tastefully decorated. The lift was clean and had an excessively shiny mirror covering the far wall. Martin checked his hair and clothes then grinned cheerfully at himself, a confidence building technique he'd been trying for years. His palms were a little sweaty and the wine bottle felt cool and slippery against his skin. God. What if he dropped it. No. Just take another deep breath and smile again. That's it. Keep smiling.

The lift doors rattled open, revealing a corridor identical to the one on the ground floor. Martin walked slowly along, reaching Douglas's flat at the far end. He knocked, tentatively, and the door swung open almost immediately, revealing Douglas, hair a little awry and wearing a rather old, tatty apron over a shirt and jeans.

"Martin, come in." Douglas stepped aside to let Martin into the flat. "You've caught me on the hop, I'm afraid." He gestured to the apron as he lead Martin into the kitchen. "I rather underestimated the preparation time for the veg and the recipe was a bit vague on some of the finer details."

"Oh, right." Martin took the seat that Douglas waved him to, a tall stool at the breakfast bar. Pans were sizzling on the hob and the food smelled amazing. Radio 3 was on in the background- some Russian ballet or other, Martin thought. "I brought this, by the way." He proffered the wine.

A frown creased Douglas's forehead and for a brief moment he looked almost angry. Martin felt the anxiety rise up and began to babble. "I- I- I wasn't sure what to bring, and I thought red is generally better than white." He cast his eyes helplessly around the beautiful, gleaming kitchen- what was he _doing_ here? "You're probably used to drinking something a bit nicer... I should have brought white, shouldn't I? Sorry, I just-"

"Martin." Douglas interrupted him. "This is fine. I honestly wasn't expecting you to bring anything. Thank you." He was smiling, but Martin was not completely convinced. 

Douglas rummaged in a drawer, producing a fancy looking corkscrew and uncorked the bottle. He let it breathe for a moment, then delicately sniffed the cork and nodded appreciatively.

"Good pick. It'll go very nicely with dinner. Oh, speaking of which-" Douglas hurriedly turned back to the multitude of pans on the cooker, carefully tasting and making adjustments.

"The wine glasses are in that cupboard there," he said, pointing with a spoon. "Help yourself."

Martin slid down from the stool and opened the specified cupboard, having to stretch on to his toes to reach one down. "Shall I pour you a glass too?"

"Not for me, thanks." Douglas didn't turn away from the stove.

Now it was Martin's turn to frown. If Douglas didn't like the wine, why didn't he just say so? He took a sip. He was no connoisseur but it _was_ rather nice. So what was Douglas' problem?

His thoughts were abruptly cut off as Douglas turned around and began to dish the food up, finishing with a perfectly intoned "Voilà, m'sieur!" like a slick French waiter. The smell alone was making Martin's mouth water and his stomach clench. 

"This looks amazing," he began, but Douglas interrupted him with a grin.

"Oh, just shut up and eat." 

Martin did as he was told.

* * *

Dinner passed quickly and the conversation flowed easily, starting with their favourite operas (Douglas's (predictably): Carmen; Martin's (even more predictably): Tosca), their favourite post-show bars and their least-favourite musical directors. After half an hour, Martin's plate was clear and his jeans felt about three sizes too small. He put his knife and fork together and sat back with a sigh.

"Thank you, Douglas, that was lovely. And you were right, the wine went well with it too." Martin watched Douglas' face tighten at his deliberate mention of the wine.

"You're most welcome." There was a beat of silence and then Douglas licked his lips, all the humour and ebullience of the last half hour suddenly evaporated.

"Martin, I should explain. I really am grateful for the wine and I really wasn't expecting you to bring anything. It was very thoughtful of you." He paused and seemed to almost mentally square his shoulders. "I'm sure you know all about what happened with me and ENO. A lot of the rumours aren't true, but I _did_ end up at a performance drunk. I managed two scenes before my understudy took over."

Martin felt the second-hand embarrassment flood his cheeks and wondered why Douglas was telling him this. He'd been warned by a friend to never bring up the ENO incident. Where was Douglas going with this?

"It wasn't a good time in my life, but I don't pretend that gives me an excuse for that night. Anyway, the upshot of it all was that I stopped drinking. And I still don't now." 

Ah.

Martin kicked himself. He knew the story. Why on earth had he thought it was a good idea to bring alcohol? _Because that's the polite thing to do,_ a voice reminded him. _What would you have brought instead, flowers?_

Douglas seemed to realise that he'd brought the conversation to a halt and quickly stood up to clear the table. Martin sat, uncertain, for a moment, then picked up a dish and followed Douglas over to the sink.

"Thanks for telling me," he said, awkwardly, and when Douglas stayed silent, continued. "It must have been hard for you. Stopping drinking, I mean. And talking about it. So thanks for explaining."

Douglas nodded, and turned back to the table to fetch the last of the dirty crockery. He seemed to have regained his old confidence by the time he reached the sink and gave Martin a proper, grateful smile.

"Would you like to stay for coffee?"

"Yeah, that would be nice. Thanks."

"Go through and take a seat, I'll just finish up here." Douglas filled the sink to let the pans soak and began to prod the coffee machine into life.

Martin went through into the cosy lounge area. It was modern, like the kitchen, but with a few more home touches- an open book on the side table, a haphazard stack of DVDs under the TV and framed photographs on the mantelpiece. Martin crossed the room to examine the photos.

There were three. In the centre was a silver double frame, the left hand side of which contained a picture of a young woman, maybe nineteen or twenty, with long dark hair. She was laughing at something off to the side of the photo. Behind her was a green expanse of grass and in the distance, the Eiffel tower, silhouetted against a brilliant blue sky. One the right hand side was a younger girl in school uniform, posed against one of those marbled blue backgrounds used by school photographers. She too had long dark hair and a happy smile. 

Martin's heart sank slightly. The resemblance was unmistakeable. Surely these were Douglas's daughters, and by extrapolation, Douglas wasn't gay, this wasn't a date at all and it was just Douglas being friendly and welcoming to a new colleague. He should have known- especially with his luck. Martin glanced over the other two photos.

The right hand one was a picture of MON, cast and crew, hurriedly crammed together backstage before a performance. Martin picked out Douglas near the back of the crowd. He couldn't tell by the costumes what opera they were performing, but the photo looked recent.

The left hand one was a picture of a much younger Douglas, looking tall, slim and happy with his arm slung around a slightly shorter man's shoulders. They were both in casual clothes and bare feet, in some leafy back garden, screwing up their eyes against the sun and broad grins on their faces. Martin was about to turn away as he heard Douglas come into the room behind him, but there was something familiar about the other man in the photograph.

"Is that Anthony Hargreaves?" he asked, as Douglas came across with his coffee.

"Tony to his friends," Douglas replied. "That's him."

"You knew him? Did you work with him?"

"Yes, we actually sang together a couple of times before he went into directing." Douglas turned away from the photograph and sat down on the sofa. "Your voice is quite similar to his, you know."

Martin's eyes widened a little as he took the other end of the sofa. "Really?"

"Mhm." Douglas took a sip of his coffee and glanced sidelong at Martin. "He was always bringing me unsolicited bottles of wine, too."

Martin caught Douglas's eye and snorted. "So he was, y'know," Martin nodded his head meaningfully. "Gay, then?"

"Oh, so you've heard that rumour too." Douglas smiled at some internal joke. "I think it's safe to say he was homosexual, yes."

The conversation dropped for a moment as each man fell into his thoughts. Martin was the first to break the silence.

"Those other photos- are they your daughters?"

A genuine smile flitted across Douglas's face. "Verity and Hannah, yes."

"How old are they?"

"Steady on, Martin," Douglas warned.

"Oh! Oh, no, no, you needn't worry about that. I'm- I'm not- I'm actually-" he took a breath and forced the words out- still difficult after all this time. "I'm gay."

Douglas simply nodded in quiet acceptance and waited for Martin's blush to subside. The younger man took a sip of his coffee and Douglas watched as his mouth pressed against the cup and how his tongue darted out briefly to swipe some foam from his lip.

He cleared his throat and blinked. _You've known the man for one day, Richardson,_ he chastised himself. _That's fast, even for you._

"Verity's twenty and Hannah's thirteen," he said, deliberately putting a stop to his thoughts.

"Tricky age," Martin commented, oblivious to Douglas's rather overt staring. "They don't live with you, then?"

"No. They're half-sisters, actually. Verity's mother- my first wife- is French, and Verity's at university in Paris. Hannah lives in Cumbria with her mother- my other ex."

"Do you get to see them often?"

"Often enough. In fact, they both might be coming to see the opening night of Tosca."

"That's nice. I'd better get practising then- don't want to let the side down." 

Douglas chuckled as he finished the last of his coffee. "Don't worry, neither of them know much about opera, but they'll clap in all the right places."

Martin smiled and let the silence grow, comfortable in the cosy room. 

The rest of the evening passed in much the same way, with easy chat and laughter. Eventually, as the clock ticked round past eleven, Martin made his excuses and, thanking Douglas again for the meal, set off home. He was disappointed that it seemed Douglas wasn't interested in men, but glad that he had made a firm friend at MON.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly old oblivious Martin! Apologies for the gap between updates but I'm currently snowed under with uni work (which, if I'm honest, I should have been doing _instead_ of writing this) so it may be a while til the next chapter. Stay tuned, though, because a certain Hercules Shipwright is about to appear on the scene...
> 
> Also a huge thanks to everyone who has left kudos or comments! It means a lot!


	8. Chapter 8

Douglas was deliberately late to rehearsal the next morning; partly because he knew it would annoy Dirk, who would in turn go and annoy Carolyn with a long-winded complaint- and what finer pleasure was there in the world than annoying Carolyn?- and partly because he wanted to see how relieved Martin would look when he finally arrived. His plans were thwarted, however, when he strolled into the rehearsal room half an hour late, only to find most of the cast and company milling around and chatting, along with many of the backstage crew and management, some of whom Douglas didn't even recognise. 

He had never given much thought to the inner machinations of the company; he simply sang when he was asked and a modest sum of money ended up in his bank account every month. It was an agreeable arrangement and one that Douglas was not eager to upset by probing too deeply into the strange workings of 'them upstairs' as they were somewhat fearfully referred to as, often in a stage whisper and with a finger jabbed skywards at the dusty gilt and plaster ceiling seventy feet overhead. 

He picked out Martin's red hair in the crowd and made a beeline towards him, vaguely miffed that his dramatic delayed entrance had been upstaged by whatever was going on and determined to find out just what exactly it _was_ that was going on. The tenor was standing awkwardly next to Arthur, who was expounding enthusiastically to Carl and a few others from the dressing room team about some esoteric form of interpretive dance. Douglas' mood improved slightly upon the realisation that he'd arrived just in time to catch Arthur's attention and stop him from actually demonstrating what he was describing.

"Hi Douglas!"

"Morning Arthur. Hello Martin. What on Earth is going on?"

"Morning." A tentative smile. "Carolyn came in a few minutes ago and told us that morning rehearsal is cancelled and that everyone should wait here because she's got an announcement to make."

"Good Lord. I wonder what it is this time. Another private midnight performance for Mr Birling? Or perhaps we've finally gone bust."

"Don't be silly Douglas!" Arthur was bouncing on the balls of his feet. "It is _really_ exciting though. But I had to promise not to tell _anyone_."

"Oh, come on Arthur, you can tell me."

"Nope!" Arthur made an exaggerated zipping motion across his lips and crossed his arms, looking rather pleased with himself.

Martin nudged his elbow. "We'll find out in a minute anyway. And it won't be that bad, will it? Surely? We're not actually going bust?"

"No... well, I hope not, although mind you that would explain why Carolyn wouldn't let me put anything on expenses the last time we went on tour."

"I thought she did that because you spent 500 euros upgrading yourself to a nicer hotel room using her card," Carl chipped in.

"On second thoughts that might have been it, yes."

Martin had just opened his mouth to question this when Carolyn entered the room, tailed by a tall, greying man, a younger woman and a camera crew, complete with one of those big fluffy microphones that looked like they must be a right pain to lug around all day. In fact, Martin was grateful for the intrusion as he'd had no idea what it was he had been planning to say.

"All right, gather round everybody." Carolyn's imperious tones carried across the room and there was a general noise of shushing and ears pricking up. 

"I don't believe it," Douglas murmured under his breath. "That's-"

"Let me introduce Hercules Shipwright and Linda Fairbairn. They are making a documentary about arts companies for the BBC and have kindly asked if MON would like to feature in it. I naturally accepted their offer. Mr Shipwright, Ms Fairbairn and their cameras will be filming us all the way up until opening night- rehearsals, costume fittings, front of house- everything. If they ask you for an interview, please be polite but do not feel you have to hold back any opinions you may have about this company or the business as a whole. If I could ask the cast to stay here- everyone else please go back to work and we will come around and introduce you at some point during the day. That's all, dismissed!"

There was a bubble of chatter as everybody absorbed the news and began to disperse to their separate departments. Carl did not look particularly enthused.

"They'll be asking us to make you lot up every day for the flipping cameras," he groaned.

Martin clicked his tongue sympathetically and turned to Douglas, expecting some witty comment which would cheer Carl up. But Douglas was looking distinctly unsettled, his gaze fixed on the advancing party of Carolyn and the two film makers.

"Ah yes. Here we have some of my employees who labour under the sad delusion that they are the most important people in the company." Carolyn's tone was mild. "Martin Crieff, lead tenor, Douglas Richardson, baritone, and Arthur, who you've already met."

Martin was about to extend his hand in greeting but Douglas got there first. 

"Herc."

"Douglas. I'd heard you were knocking about up north London and here you are! Haven't seen you since... well, for a very long time."

"Mmm. And you're what, a journalist now, what is this?"

"Oh, no, Linda there's the journalist." He nodded across the room in the direction of the younger woman, who Carolyn, sensing the tension, had discretely led away to talk to Anna and some of the other cast members. "I'm what you might call their resident expert." It didn't seem like Herc was doing much to keep the smugness out of his voice.

"I see." The two men held each other's gaze for a moment, before Herc's eyes flicked away and on to Martin.

"Martin, was it? Pleasure to meet you. Hope this lazy old sod doesn't work you too hard."

Martin gave a tight smile. "No, not really, it's only my second day."

"Gosh, really? Linda will be pleased- newcomer's perspective, fresh pair of eyes and all that." He shook Arthur's hand warmly. "Hello again, Arthur."

"Hi Herc! I managed to keep you a secret- even from Douglas!"

"Yes, I rather gathered you had." Douglas shifted his weight and crossed his arms, his body language getting more aggressive by the minute.

"Anyway, better go and catch Linda up." Herc glanced back to Douglas. "See you all later, I expect." 

Douglas let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as Herc strode off across the room.

"You two know each other, then?" Martin enquired, endeavouring to keep his tone neutral.

"Yes, we were at ENO together." Douglas seemed to come back to himself. "I just need to go and talk to Carolyn for a moment."

Martin watched, perplexed and vaguely unsettled as Douglas found Carolyn and left the room, his face an odd mixture of anger and fear.

* * *

"I can't believe this."

"Douglas. Please calm down. I have his word that he will not make anything public which you do not wish to be made public." Carolyn sat down, deliberately putting her desk between herself and Douglas.

"Oh, you have his _word_. That's fantastically reassuring."

"Herc has offered to let me watch and edit all the footage before it goes out."

Douglas shrugged, his anger solidifying into something unpleasantly akin to seasickness.

"Fine. Although I don't know how you expect us to work with cameras everywhere."

"Don't try and make excuses. You will work just as well as you normally do- which is to say, hardly at all."

Douglas glared moodily at a spot on the wall above Carolyn's head.

"What are you afraid of, anyway? He doesn't have anything to gain by exposing the whole sordid tale."

"Hercules Shipwright? He'd do it for his own personal amusement. It's not enough for him that everyone in the trade knows what happened, he'd like to let the rest of the world in on the joke too."

"And this is all still because you were chosen as principle over him at ENO? Can't you just let bygones be bygones? You were both practically children then!"

"I know, but try telling him that. Herc bears a grudge like Atlas bears the world."

Carolyn snorted.

"Well, you need to sort it out with him- and please try to keep it civil."

Douglas understood he was being dismissed and turned to leave.

"Oh, by the way, how's Martin settling in?"

Douglas made a split second decision to not tell Carolyn about having dinner with him. He rather thought Martin would prefer Carolyn not knowing.

"He's fine. A good singer. Nervous performer, though, I expect."

Carolyn nodded.

"All right. I might come down to rehearsals later. And if you insist on punching Herc, please do so off the premises."

Douglas gave a mock bow and left, wishing he could place as much trust in Herc as Carolyn seemed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like once a month is about how often updates are going to be. I think we're maybe about a third of the way through this now, maybe nearing half. 
> 
> I must admit that I've made Herc a little more unsympathetic than he is in canon- he's not one of my favourite characters (heresy, I know). But I promise he'll get nicer once he and Douglas have worked everything out.
> 
> Until next time, folks!


End file.
